My Small Blemish
by Gohanroxme
Summary: LustXLujon and slight Lust/Scar's Brother. Homunculi were immune to emotion, according to Dante. Yet, Lust was feeling SOMETHING towards the man she was tutoring on Alchemy. Based off of episode 35 where Lust reunites with a man she met 2 years ago.


My Small Blemish

**Disclaimer: I don't own **_**Fullmetal Alchemist**_**.**

_A/N: My first Fullmetal fic. Just finished the series today and I'm on to Brotherhood. When I first saw this episode (episode 35) I really enjoyed the sort-of Lust romance. I decided to write about it._

She could feel the wind wafting through her hair, the breeze rustling within her thick, dark locks, the tresses tickling her cheeks.

The scent of the pine trees were sweet and the sound of woodland animals were almost . . . soothing . . . it gave her time to think, time to-

She didn't know _what_ it was, exactly, about that particular forest, but it was a preferable place to be when . . . as . . .

. . . they happened.

The . . . the feelings, the senses of déjà vu and of what she supposed were memories . . . they were happening more frequently, gnawing at her mind, appearing before her eyes.

It was always a man, always a young man with skin darker than bronze and glasses . . . thin, black-wired glasses over luminous . . . red eyes.

His eyes were red. She could see them so clearly at times: when obsidian strands of hair fell into them, when he adjusted the spectacles firmly onto his nose, and when they watched her, observing with that . . . that _doting_, crimson gaze.

It confused her, the love in his eyes-_Why was it there? Did he really bear passion for her?- _She could feel the affection every time he materialized within her mind . . . the warmth. The sensation it gave her was unreal, almost . . . what most would call emotion.

Emotion. It was something she was sure she couldn't feel . . . never her. She was a homunculus. They were immune to that sort of thing, weren't they?

"_The_ _complication of emotion,"_ Dante had always recited, as if she loathed the ability to own it, neglecting the idea indifferently, while it was a concept _she_ longed to feel instead.

She craved to experience it.

But she couldn't feel emotion. She wasn't human.

The tingle was still there, though, whenever she pictured the mysterious man's face, as small shiver in the pit of her stomach.

But it felt large in her soulless shell, something that had never quite occurred so strongly.

And it was arising repeatedly now, ever since she'd agreed to teach that doctor, Lujon, alchemy with a false Philosopher's Stone. He brought on the stirrings in her belly, the breathlessness in her chest, the invisible heating in her cheeks.

The scent of him when she helped him study, leaning over his narrow shoulders, was intoxicating. It wasn't a terrible smell, but it smelled of him, manly, an aroma that caused her to flinch at being so close to him, enough to breathe him in.

She'd stood at the side from then on, at the corner of his working table.

Lujon was a pleasant man, actually. He was kind to her, willing to let her teach him and do what she wanted. He was keen to hear anything from her lips.

He was also . . . there was another word for him, but she couldn't find it anywhere in her mind. And the roused reactions in her body while she was near him were too similar as to what she felt when she mused upon the red-eyed man that strangely reminded her of the one called Scar.

Because Lujon was like _him_, like the one in his head. Though they weren't the same hue, their eyes were the same. Lujon's were suddenly so similar to his after several of days of her tutors.

No, not because they both shared bifocals; it wasn't that. It was the expressions they equally held. That look . . . it was the exact that haunted her mind, the sentiment it contained . . . the emotion.

It was adoration. It was . . . dare she say it, love.

It was what Lujon's eyes were filled with every time they happened to glance her way. She would avoid his gaze, sure, but she could still feel his stare on her, the heat of the ardor boring into her back.

She didn't like it, didn't appreciate his eyes her. But still, oddly, she wanted it. She desired for him to watch her . . . yearned for him to see her body . . . every part of it.

But she couldn't, she mustn't. He was getting married today, anyway. She had to stay away, had to keep from him.

And that was what she was doing dawdling around the forest behind Lujon's town. She needed to clear her head. She needed to-

A twig snapped behind her and she knew who it was without turning around, inwardly cringing.

She managed to keep her voice clear and unwavering, despite the uneasiness she felt inside, "It's about time for the ceremony to start, isn't it?"

His uncertainty was audible, dousing his words as he replied, "I can't do it . . . I can't go through with it . . . ."

She noted the pain in his voice . . . the defeat. Surely he couldn't be referring to . . . ?

Curiously, she turned to face him, arching a reddish-black eyebrow.

He was there, exactly who she'd been expecting, dressed in a dashing, midnight tuxedo with a black tie, a single, pink flower attached to his right, breast pocket.

Underneath was a white undershirt exposing a lean, nicely-built chest. She visualized it to be warm and sturdy beneath her cold, prodding fingers . . . .

Almost guiltily, she averted her gaze, slightly aggravated by her thoughts.

His head was bowed, brownish-gray hair falling across dark eyes as he clenched weak fists, visually overcame. "Alchemy isn't the only thing you've taught me, Lust." His stare then locked with hers and she felt her cheeks burn, growing even more annoyed at how her body was acting. "There's something else . . . even more important . . . ."

Momentarily numb, she brushed an onyx, curl from her forehead. The heat of her locks were not helping the flush in her face go away.

"What are you talking about?" Her tone was bored and uninterested, nearly a sigh and masking the tugs in her abdomen.

His movement was so swift, she almost didn't see it. But his arms were around her now, gently pulling her body against his. Warm fingers were in her thick, tresses of hair, stroking her tenderly.

She could feel his moist breath caressing her ear as he murmured, "I want you by my side, forever . . . forever."

Something in her chest jolted and she was once again permitted to see the tan, red-eyed man. She was in his hold that time, a hold much like the one she was in now, and he was giving her something. A necklace. One with a black-beaded chain and a blue pearl, it looked like.

_Who . . . who are you? Why do you haunt me?_

She was back now, her vision hazily coming back to place, once more in a hug with Lujon.

Except she didn't want it. Instead, she wanted so badly to shove him off of her after witnessing what looked like herself with another man; she wished to push him away, however she couldn't stop him . . . couldn't disregard the feelings pulsing within.

She didn't love him.

But she was Lust.

Her eyes began to close, contented.

There was a sudden gasp and Lujon ripped away from her while she tiredly gathered her bearings.

That brown-haired girl stood facing them in a petite, white dress, shrinking behind a vast tree trunk with teary eyes. Lujon's fiancée. The one named Lydia.

She and Lujon stared wordlessly at her, astonished, until Lydia finally released a despaired sob, backtracking out of the woods, her light-brunette wisps of hair trailing behind her.

Beside her, Lujon groaned anxiously, running a tense hand through his hair. She could only imagine the thoughts running through his head.

Her voice was emotionless, like her, when she told him, "I want you to go to her, Lujon."

"But Lust-" His gaze was pleading with hers, as if begging her not to make him. He was agonized, she could see . . . torn.

She ignored him, though. Because she wanted him gone. She did not want to see him. He'd angered her. He'd taken unaware advantage of her Sin.

The words were yanked from her throat in a scream that she couldn't keep contained. "Go to her! _Now_!"

As if surprised by her abrupt outburst, Lujon took off after his lover, shouting, "Lydia! Lydia, wait!"

**Two Years Later:**

She recalled all that, vaguely, as she stood alone with Lujon again, in the dead of the night and warily watched him take her hand in his, showing her his new, fake Philosopher's Stone ring that she'd recently given him.

"You saved us again," he said softly, tracing his fingers along the black glove on her hands. "Like you did two years ago. Do you remember? That day, when I hugged you?"

Yes, she did remember. It was becoming clearer and clearer in her mind, the feelings it gave her, the thoughts it brought up.

Suddenly, she was embraced again, much like the first one, but that time she saw it coming. That time, she did not shut her eyes.

His cheek was hot against hers. "But this will be different from then-" She knew it too. "-I won't let you go now!

"_Don't go!"_

A familiar twinge jerked at her chest and she saw fire . . . an awful inferno that licked at every building, the scorching heat blistering her face. Horrible, blood-curdling shrieks echoed in her ears.

She . . . she couldn't- She had to make it stop.

And then her nails pierced his soft and penetrable skin, coming out the other side, blood splattering in the grass underneath them.

She had to admit it felt good, discharging a lot of the stress that had been bottling inside of her.

Lujon inhaled sharply, staring right into her lavender eyes and almost coughing blood onto the front of her dress. His expression contained anguish . . . anguish she nearly felt remorseful for as he wheezed, "W-why . . . ?"

Why? _Why_? Because . . . because of what he did to her . . . what he made her feel . . . the visions he gave her were too much for her to handle and she didn't know what they meant!

He was her problem, clouding her better judgment. He got in her way, messed with her head.

Lust observed him calmly as he fell to his knees, the counterfeit Philosopher's Stone shattering, lights from the surrounding houses switching on.

"You were my small . . . blemish."

And at that moment his body turned a hideous purple, ghastly patches of skin stretching outward from his bones, hard and flaky. Fossilitis, he called it.

He was dead. And she was free, turning her back on him, wondering, _Where did I come from and_ _where am I going?_

_A/N: After I watched this episode, I immediately took Lust as my favorite homunculus, as she seemed to have some intentions of turning good. She did, kind of! I hope you liked this. R&R!_


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